The Dark Knight Rises (Alternate Version)
by B. Harrison
Summary: This is a version of the final film in The Dark Knight trilogy in which Heath Ledger was still around to give another brilliant portrayal of The Joker. I say version, it's pretty much completely different. Hope you enjoy. Follow and review.
1. Chapter 1

**Many people seem to ask "what would the Dark Knight Rises have been like had Heath Ledger been alive?" so I, being me, thought, may as well write a fanfiction about it. I own none of the characters officiated with DC comics and I don't own the rights to Christopher Nolans films either. So now I've said that no one can sue me which is always nice. Well anyway, hope you enjoy. Please review and follow. Thank you.**

* * *

1

There is cascading darkness. Through this darkness light once broke, cracking the dark into a symbol… The symbol of a bat. But long ago that light had faded in to nothing, replaced by an artificial, shapeless glow of false hope. The fools of Gotham saw it. It was on this day that they celebrated it… Harvey Dent day.

* * *

It had been one year since the disappearance of the Dark Knight and since Harvey Dent had plunged to his death, taking his secret to the grave with him. Gordon watched the crowd who, in turn, watched him. All of them were ignorant as to the truth of who the man they loved so much was. Not one of them knew the monster he had ended his life as. He shook his head. It was for the best. He unscrewed a page he had written. He had no intention to make speech long. He wasn't going to spend a moment more th an he needed to praising the man who had tried to murder his son. He cleared his throat.

"Harvey Dent," he spoke, " was a symbol of hope, a martyr, who was taken from us by a fiend whose name we may never know…" He paused, looking at the crowd who stared so adoringly at each word he spoke. "…and today, on Harvey Dent day, a year after the tragic circumstances of his death, we gather to celebrate the life of Gothams white knight: the man who is responsible for the Harvey Dent act which has led to the arrests of the majority of Gothams scum and lowlife. So I will say now the only thing which I need to say." He raised the glass in his hand high above his head. "To Harvey Dent."

This finale was met by cheers of approval from the crowd before him, children chanting the name of their white knight. Gordon didn't say another word until he was off the stage.

* * *

A woman with a pretty, young face, blonde pigtails hanging down watched as Gordon left the stage. Striding forward she made certain to catch him before got the chance to talk with anyone else.

"Commissioner Gordon," she said, " that was truly a beautiful speech. Agreed with every word. I would like to speak to you if I may…"

But she was cut off midsentence. "I'm not speaking to the press," Gordon informed her with a kind firmness. "Not today."

"It's not Harvey Dent I was going to ask you about," she said reassuringly before adding, "and I'm not a journalist."

Gordon stared suspiciously. "What exactly are you then?" he questioned.

"I… er… I work as a Psychiatric nurse in Arkham Asylum," she responded.

But before she could continue a police officer jumped in, patting Gordon on the back.

"That was a brilliant speech Commish," he said before leaning in, unaware the woman could hear him still. "I'd make sure Barabra doesn't see you chatting to her. She looks the sort wives like their husbands to avoid." The officer laughed. Gordon didn't but the officer didn't seem to notice. He wondered away with a stupid grin.

"Sorry, that was Harvey Bullock," Gordon apologized.

"Don't worry about it," the woman responded. "I'm more or less used to being treated like that. Anyway, you see I work at Arkham and… I am to start working with a patient soon."

Gordon looked at his watch. He was supposed to pick up his daughter from the train station in half an hour. He really needed to get away somehow.

"We could talk another time," Gordon said; "I'm sorry but I need to get going."

"The last person to work with my new patient says he has a particular interest in the Batman," the woman continued, "and I figured that you knew him well enough to tell me a few things about the Dark Knight…"

"Listen, I will gladly stop off at the Asylum to speak with you," Gordon said, "but another time… I will ask for you."

"My name's Harleen Quinzel," the woman told him. "Ask for Harley. That's what everyone calls me…"

"Well it was good to meet you Harley," Gordon said. "I will catch you tomorrow…"

Harley nodded. "See you Commish," she said.

That was one of the most successes she had had with speaking to someone else in a long time but it wasn't going to help her with her patient. The last psychiatrist to tackle this patient had thrown themselves into the depths of Gothams river after just five months of being the patients psychiatrist. Hopefully she was stronger in tackling The Joker than that person had been.

* * *

Bruce Wayne had been asleep on a sofa in Wayne manor, a glass of whiskey in his grip for quite a while now. Suddenly a glass of water appeared to spill itself over him. His eyes shot open to see Alfred.

" Morning Alfred," he murmered.

" Good afternoon Mr Wayne," the valet responded.

"Oh, really?" a surprised but indifferent Brce Wayne asked. "Well either way," he went on, raising his glass, "happy Harvey Dent day."

" To you too Sir," Alfred replied.

Bruce slumped back. "Take the day off if you like."

"I shall do no such thing Master Wayne." Then, for a brief moment, Alfred paused. "Sir, I'm rather worried about your alcohol consumption of late."

"Alfred, I'm not a boy any more. You don't need to care for me anymore."

"I rather think I need to care for you more than ever. I have buried enough members of the Wayne family. I'm not burying you too." Again Alfred paused, thinking about his next line of enquiry. "Sir, this Golden age cannot last forever," he stated in a matter of fact tone.

"You make it sound as if I am waiting for it to end Alfred," Bruce laughed.

"That Sir," Alfred sighed, "was my intention."


	2. Chapter 2

2

Harleen Quinzel arrived home not too long after her conversation with Gordon. Looking around her dank old rotten apartment she could not help but feel a twinge of jealousy. It was Harvey Dent day and everyone around was jumping for joy about him, celebrating him; a man who had been DEAD for a year!

"Happy Birthday Harley," she sang to herself.

She had bought herself a cake which she was presently fetching from the cupboard. She lit some candles, humming to herself.

"Make a wish Harley," she said to herself before blowing the candles out.

She was half way through her second slice of cake when the phone began to ring. It wasn't a sound she was used to hearing and she walked over with caution before picking up.

"Hello? Harleen Quinzel speaking. Who is th…"

"You're presents in your office Harley," the voice on the other end of the line said. "Happy birthday Miss Quinzel."

That was it. The line rang off after that. Putting down the phone she thought over the words. Her office? At Arkham? Leaving the cake on the side she grabbed her coat, letting her inner child guide her. After all, wishes sometimes came true.

* * *

Harvey Bullock was enjoying the celebrations, particularly the drink, as he felt a presence at his side.

"Harvey, a word if you don't mind," the Mayor said.

"Oh, sure thing," Bullock responded, glugging back his drink.

"It's about Gordon," the Mayor murmured. "I shouldn't be telling you this but we are planning to drop him this Spring."

"What?" Bullock demanded.

"I know he's a friend of yours but listen Harvey, the Commisioner job, by Spring it's all yours."

"Sir, I…" Bullock began, unsure what to say. "That man's a hero."

"A war hero Harvey," the Mayor corrected. "It doesn't bode well to have a war hero running the place in peace time. Either way, I am lead to believe his health has taken a drop recently. The free time will do him good."

"It'll come as a shock to him Sir," Bullock replied.

The Mayor seemed to ignore him, treating the man as if he was happy at the news. "Congratulations Harvey," he said. "We may have another hero named Harvey yet."

Bullock couldn't find the words to respond until the Mayor had wondered away. But he had to talk with the Mayor. He wasn't going to let Gordon down.

"SIR!" he shouted.

But before the Mayor could answer the entire left side of a nearby building blew into a cascade of fire and ash, smoke billowing out into the crowd. A screaming crowd was consumed by ash and debris.

* * *

Gordon was loitering at the train station. Barbara would be there in at least ten minutes. He hadn't seen her for quite some time and there was a home coming party planned. She had only managed to get out of her work due to its being Harvey Dent day. This seemed a valid reason to be home with the family. Thank God they didn't know the truth about Dent. Suddenly Gordon's phone began to ring. It was Bullock.

"Harvey, what is it?" Gordon asked, still in an irritated state from having to give a complimentary speech about Dent.

"Gordon," the muffled voice of Bullock shouted, the screams and shouts of a crowd around him drowning out his words, "the entire left side of a building has been set alight. We need you here…"

"Wait, only the left side?" Gordon questioned.

"Yeah, the right sides fine from what I can see," Bullock responded. "Gordon, we need you down here…"

"On my way," Gordon replied.

* * *

Bruce Wayne was staring out of the window, out onto Gotham, Alfred striding into the room.

"What was that?" Alfred asked.

Bruce didn't reply. He didn't know. There had been an explosion, yes, but Alfred could work that out for himself. He turned from the window, sprinting to the remote of the TV, switching it on to the News. The breaking news was written in large, clear letters at the bottom of the screen: "ATTACK ON GOTHAM CITY". There were images of the destruction. Half of a building had been blown to bits. Then the screen flickered. The image was gone, replaced by a grey fuzz. Then there was a new voice, replacing that of the reporter.

"Gotham," a deep, muffled voice spoke, "heed my warning, this is only the beginning." Suddenly the shot of a man wearing a mask over his mouth flickered on to the screen. "Where is your knight now Gotham?"

Then the screen fell into black silence.

* * *

Harleen Quinzel was striding along the corridors of Arkham Asylum. These were the walls, she thought, that tomorrow she would begin work on a career changing case. People might just think twice about her once they saw what she was capable of. Because getting in to the mind of THAT patient was not a simple task. The bosses knew that. She thought of the praise she would get and a childish grin formed on her lips. She walked into her office, flicking on the lights. She expected someone was playing a trick on her-having a joke at her expense as they usually did. But she noted that there really was a present awaiting her on the desk, next to it an envelope and a bunch of flowers- red roses no less. Like a kid at Christmas at she ran over to the desk, tearing the envelope open.

"Hope you're looking forward to tomorrow as much as me pretty girl, J." it read.

She raised an eye brow with a momentary uncertainty before smiling. It was vital for a patient to get on with the psychologist and it looked as if this was a great start. That assuming "J" stood for what she thought it did. She sniffed at the roses before rereading the card. She really was looking forward to it now.


	3. Chapter 3

3

The worlds of the people of Gotham were turned upside down on the day the building exploded. Most were horrified. Some relished it. Bruce Wayne stared at the fuzzy television screen, his face portraying nothing. There was silence across Gotham. Darkness had fallen. Alfred stood at the window, taking in the view of a silent Gotham, smoke drifting up in the distance. Then, suddenly, the silence was no more. Screaming began in the streets of Gotham and it was clear to Alfred why. It was the sky. There was something in the sky.

"Master Bruce," he said sharply, "I think you had better come and see this."

* * *

A government plane drifted the skies, blissfully unaware of the destruction below them. It was their place to take a prisoner over into Gotham where the prisoner would be transported to Arkham Asylum for the criminally insane. The CIA men were laughing and joking, guns in holsters by their sides as their prisoner lounged on his knees, a bag over his head. As the men laughed the prisoners sigh was audible to all on the plane. The grinning and laughing ceased.

"Bored?" one of them questioned the prisoner mockingly.

"Of idiocy, yes," the prisoner answered, his voice clear and somewhat smug in its tone.

"You think you're better than us?" the Special Forces man asked.

"Well, short answer, yes," the prisoner answered. "But then again, no one noticed me until I showed them how much better I really was than them."

"And how do you think you did that?" the man asked, still mocking.

"Riddles my good Sir," the prisoner answered. "Now riddle me this: what's worse than being on this plane?"

The Special Forces men looked around at each other before sneering at the man, one of them walking over and pulling the bag off from his head.

"Enlighten us Mr Nygma," the man offered.

The prisoner, Nygma, allowed a thin, cold smile stretch across his thin face. "Being on this plane in two minutes time," he responded.

Slowly a shadow drifted over the plane… The shadow of another plane. Then a jolt. The Special Forces men looked about them, unnerved.

"Sorry guys," Nygma sighed, "but I only got the heads up of the plan earlier today. Not sure he takes prisoners either. You will all have my sincere condolences."

"Who?" one man demanded.

Nygma stared at the man, wide eyed, grinning. "This guy."

Suddenly gun fire shattered the windows. Men dangling from the second plane on harnesses blew away the majority of the Special Forces. One of the Special Forces men pulled out a gun, shooting the man addressing Nygma in the back. He fell instantly, the rogue firing at the remaining Special Forces men. Without warning the top of the plane appeared to be ripped off, the plane dangling precariously from a wire connected to the ends and the centre of the plane from the second plane. Amidst the chaos the rogue Special Forces agent untied Nygma from his bonds.

"You understand that you're being broken free for a reason?" the rogue questioned.

"Naturally," Nygma answered.

"Good, because he doesn't suffer fools gladly," the man said.

"And I am quite right not to," a deep, loud voice bellowed from behind the man.

The rogue span to see a large, extremely well built man, a mask covering his face: his boss, Bane.

"I am sorry my good Sir but I cannot allow any loose ends in this operation and since you were willing to defect from the Forces," Bane said, grabbing the rogue, "I cannot trust you either."

With ferocious force Bane slammed the man's neck against the edge of Nygma's seat and threw the dead body across the plane. Bane gave a satisfied nod before grabbing Nygma who looked exhilarated by it all, and attaching himself to a harness, fallen from the plane above.

"Brace Mr Nygma," Bane said.

"You're not going to…" Nygma began.

The sentence was never completed as Bane hit a button. The wires attached to each side of end and side of the plane flew loose and, through the hole in the planes top, Bane and Nygma seemed to be yanked. Or rather the plane fell, hurtling to the ground, the two criminals left dangling in mid-air on a harness attached to the plane above. The drop was dizzying, the dark skies around them amplifying such a tremendous drop, yet Bane remained firmly composed. The same could not be said for Nygma.

"Now Mr Nygma," Bane said, "we can talk!"

* * *

Gordon's phone began to trill in his pocket. He was at the site of the explosion where only a few minutes ago he had been giving a celebratory speech. Now it was chaos. People were running and screaming, others wounded on the ground. It was his daughter, Barb.

"Dad," her voice spoke as soon as he answered, "where are you? I've just arrived at the station."

"Darling, there's a situation," Gordon answered. "A buildings been blown half to ash in front of a massive crowd. Call your mother to pick you up."

"Is every one okay...?" Barb began but the line was dead as soon as she had said it.

Gordon sprinted over to an injured woman, lying on the street.

"You okay?" he asked as he hoisted her to her feet.

"I don't know," she began but then she stopped. Her hand pointed to the sky.

Gordon looked around as everyone stared up at the sky and then at the sky itself. Then he saw why.

"You son of a bitch," he murmured.

Above the burning orange streets of that night was a light as against the smoke was a symbol. It was the symbol of a bat.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Gordon stepped into the house that night in the early hours to find his eldest daughter asleep on the couch. He smiled at her with tired eyes before looking around. It looked as if they had had the home coming cake without him, the banner which had been prepared hanging above the table which the whole family had been gathered around minus himself. He dragged his feet off to bed. He needed sleep now.

* * *

A couple walked along the streets, apparently trying to get home as quickly as they could, away from the chaos which seemed to have developed. Suddenly, from the shadows of the dead of night, a man stepped out. The couple stopped dead as the man gave them a toothy grin, holding up a razor blade.

"Purse, wallet… now," he demanded.

"Listen, take it easy," one of the couple pleaded as they handed over a purse and a wallet. "Just let us go."

The crook grunted unpleasantly at them, holding the razor blade closer. Suddenly the crook was pulled backwards and CRACK! The thug received a swipe across the face, knocking him back, the crook falling limp to the ground. The couple stared at the figure: a caped man whose face was shadowed from the light, masked. The figure looked up, holding the purse and the wallet before throwing them to the couple's feet.

"Batman?" one of them asked.

"No," the figure responded. Then, into the shadows, he was gone.

* * *

Day light rose on Gotham as Alfred observed Bruce Wayne's empty bed room.

"MASTER WAYNE!" he called about the manor until he finally heard signs of life from the gym. Peering inside he saw Bruce was lying on a surface, lifting a weight above his head.

"You appear to be using the gym Sir," Alfred observed. "May I ask why?"

"It's my gym Alfred," Bruce panted, concentrating hard on the lifting of the weight, the strain clear in his voice.

"Your gym which you haven't used for at least a year," Alfred elaborated.

Bruce placed the weight down, beads of sweat gushing from his brow, his hair soaked with sweat.

"You don't sound too happy that I'm getting back into shape Alfred," Bruce noted.

"If it were for your health I would be quite content with it Sir," he responded, "however I feel as if there is another reason for your sudden compulsion to get into shape which isn't for your own health."

Bruce stared at Alfred with meaningful eyes. "Yesterday a building was blown to bits and you expect me to let that pass?"

"Not you Sir. I expect Batman to let it pass because Batman is dead. He died the day Harvey Dent did."

"Idea's don't die Alfred," Bruce wheezed. "An idea is what it needs to be and right now Gotham needs him."

"What makes you think that it wasn't a one off attack Master Wayne?" Alfred reasoned.

"Peace is wafer thin Alfred and that explosion was the spark which burned through it."

Alfred stared at him. He didn't see what most people saw in Batman. He saw a boy who wanted to help. He stepped forward. "In those years you left Gotham I hoped you'd never come back here. I hoped you'd go, get married, and may be have some children to care for and that maybe I might see you one day with your family, happy after everything. My heart sank when you came back. There's nothing but misery for you here Bruce. I don't know who put the Bat symbol in the sky yesterday but you have given them everything."

Bruce listened motionlessly before shaking his head sadly. "I had that. I had Rachel," Bruce said. "She was going to leave Harvey for me. I still could have had that life. But not now."

Alfred just stared blankly. He said nothing, uncertain as to if he should tell him the truth. Then he nodded. "Very good Sir."

* * *

Harleen Quinzel strode into Arkham with a certain spring in her step that day. Her hair was tied up into two bobbles and her lips shone with a bright lipstick as if she were out to impress. After all, first impressions mattered. She wasn't sure if it was normal to be looking forward to meeting a crazed lunatic murderer but she was looking forward to it whether she liked it or not. She confronted another Doctor first though.

"Excuse me, has a Jim Gordon asked for me yet?" she inquired.

The Doctor looked up and shook her head. "No; any reason why he should?" she questioned.

"Well I am starting work on The Joker today so I just thought…"

"The Joker?" the Doctor asked, suddenly interested in this previously totally average, uninteresting woman. "You've been assigned to The Joker?"

"Yeah," Harleen answered. "It doesn't matter if Gordon…"

"You'd better be careful around him," the Doctor told her. "He's a real nut case."

"I've done my research thanks," Harleen said with a smile. "He's only human afterall."

"Well tell us all how you get on afterwards… erm… What's your name?"

"Harleen Quinzel. Call me Harley," Harleen responded, somewhat taken aback by the attention this one patient seemed to be bringing her but pleased none the less.

"Harley Quinn huh?" the Doctor asked. "He should like you."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Harleen said.

"Cruel parents?" the Doctor asked.

Her voice was suddenly quite a lot quieter as Harleen replied, "yeah, you could say that."

* * *

Harleen strode along the corridors of Arkham, running all the facts through her head one final time, whispering them to herself just to make sure she knew everything, clutching the files of the career defining patient to her chest. At last she reached the door. It was Cell 52 in the new block. A guard unlocked the door with a clunk and pushed open the door which resembled a metal slab. Harleen stepped through it, into the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**If you understand some of the references I am leaving please tell me in the review section. After this chapter things are going to get going properly. Please review and follow. Thanks.**

* * *

5

The room was a murky white colour. In its centre was what looked like an uncomfortably padded table. On it was a man in a strait jacket. He looked up. He had made a deal with the guards that he would stop talking to them if they gave him white face paint. Only after one of the guards had had a nervous breakdown did they asylum comply. Through the paint a grisly scar was etched into his skin causing a constant grin. He presently grinned at Harleen Quinzel. But his look was blank. Harleen heard the metal door clunk shut behind her. She was alone with this man. She was alone with the Joker.

"I am Doctor Harleen Quinzel," she spoke in a vague stab at confidence, an attempt to show she was in control of the situation (although she was not certain which of the room's two occupants she was trying to prove it to). "Since your last Doctor is no longer able to see you I have been assigned to your case. We are very sorry for the inconvenience and hope you will be able to have trust in your new Doctor."

The man with the greenish hair stared at her as if she had just walked into a quiet room and started screaming.

"May I sit down?" Harleen asked in a friendly tone.

There was no answer. Just a very vague shrug. Harleen seated herself on a fold up metal chair.

"Charming," he said suddenly.

"What?" Harleen asked, thrown a little by this sudden breaking of the silence.

"The name," Joker replied as if it should be obvious. "I expect your friends call you Harley?"

Harleen didn't respond. It was her turn to give a vague shrug.

"You're lucky to have them," Joker spoke. "Friends. It's lonely in here."

Harleen stared at her patient. She wanted to tell him that she knew how he felt but she needed to stay professional.

"Did you leave your cell last night?" she questioned.

Joker grinned. A real grin. "What makes you think that?"

"You left roses in my office."

"Perhaps I sleep walk."

"What if I told the guards?"

"You won't."

"I know that how?"

"Because you had all night to do so. Besides, you wouldn't want to lose my trust would you?"

He was right of course. She would lose the case which could make her career if she said a word. She decided it was best to change the topic.

"Why Joker?" she asked. "Why call yourself that?"

"Because if I used a normal boring name then I would be hiding who I was wouldn't I?" he laughed. "Joker is the truth. Not like those fakers out there. What do you get from the name Gordon? Nothing."

"But Batman, he is truthful to the name?" Harleen asked.

Joker glanced at Harleen as if impressed. "I knew you'd get it. A girl called Harley Quinn. It makes me feel like I'm not so alone in here. Even if I am."

Harleen shook her head at him, her eyes pitying. "You're not alone," she said. "You've got a friend in me. Okay?"

Joker sighed. "Life isn't kind. You need to get the fun where you can. A guy like me, never allowed to play with the toys the other kids were, he's gotta have fun some time right? But the others, they don't get that, do they Harley?"

Harleen shook her head. "No, I guess not," she replied. She knew the feeling. She hadn't known her father and her mother had always seemed more concerned about her sister's welfare than hers. It was as if Joker was speaking directly to her, as if he was the one helping and not the other way around.

"Memories like that, of people not caring, they're always there. They are irritants, like children, that just keep coming back as if they thrive off you. The only way to kill them is to take that leap from the tracks of society. There is no sanity clause. So I thought, no matter how hard things get there is always madness, where I can shut the door on all those ghastly memories, forever. And look at how happy I am now."

Harleen saw a man who was lost and needed help. She could do that. She knew she could. To her there was no monster in the room. If anyone was the monster here it was the people who had ignored him and bashed him down until he was like this. She understood entirely what he meant. But he was happy. Did he need help? After all, the important thing in the world was happiness. She needed time to think about this, to compose herself. Soon she would leave the room, thinking about how much she would like to shut out those memories of bullying and sadness somehow. But just as she closed the door Joker spoke one last sentence to her before she left.

"How's Momma?" he asked.

Harleen felt as if she had been shocked by 500 volts as she looked back into the cell. How much did he know about her? How had he found out about that?

"Fine," she responded.

Joker nodded as she closed the metal door with a clunk. Harleen didn't hear what followed through the padding of Joker's cell. It began with a slight grin. Then the howling, savage, shriek of Jokers laugh began.

* * *

After work Harleen felt a definite twinge of nerves. How could he know her mother was in hospital? How could he know that from inside his cell? As she drove over the bridge she made a turn to the hospital.

Miss Elizabeth Timm Quinzel (or "Dini" as friends called her) was in hospital room DC27. She had suffered a severe stroke and, having been put into an induced coma, was being cared for. Harleen visited often, if only for the company. This visit was out of a fear Joker had placed in her mind. It was a misjudged fear. Her mother was fine. Seating herself next to her mother's bed she gave a deep sigh.

"You do care about me don't you?" she said quietly, her voice shaky. "I know Arleen is the favourite but you do still care about me? I mean, I did gymnastics, I got a Doctors degree. What did I do wrong?"

There was no reply. Slowly her mind turned to the Joker. As a tear ran down her cheek she thought, perhaps that was the most sensible way to live: to do what YOU wanted. Slowly she rose and headed for the door.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Sorry that it really has really a long time since the last chapter. Been busy. Please follow and review. Thanks.**_

* * *

"It's been a month since the disruption of Harvey Dent day Sir."

Bruce Wayne looked up, the vague outlines of a scowl on his face. He was panting, his body bathed in sweat, his hair all over the place. He was of course in the gym. Where else would he be these days but there?

"A month well spent," Bruce panted.

"People are wondering where Bruce Wayne has gone Sir," Alfred continued without success.

"Let them," Bruce answered, waving a dismissive hand. "The aristocrats who want to glimpse a play boy aren't my main concern."

"Well they should be," Alfred informed, his tone matter of fact. "Bruce Wayne is not a man who goes out to save Gotham. He is just another play boy. Batman is... was the hero. And he is dead."

"My hopes of living properly are gone too Alfred!" Bruce snapped. "They are ashes. They were shattered by the same explosion that killed Rachel!"

Alfred glimpsed his shoes as to hide his face... As if he knew something that he didn't. Then he shrugged.

"Well either way," Alfred sighed, "it looks rather as if the new boys doing well enough on his own."

With that Alfred strode from the room, but not before casting the days newspaper down next to Bruce who surveyed the headline.

" _ **THE NIGHTWING BRINGS DOWN YET ANOTHER BATCH OF CRIMINALS IN THE NIGHT!**_ " Then beneath it: " _ **COULD THIS BE THE NEW BATMAN?**_ "

Bruce panted, still unable to regain his breathing pattern, closing his eyes. He needed to think.

* * *

Harleen was chatting with some friends in her office at this time, checking her watch, waiting for ten a.m.: the time of her appointment. She had been gathering attention over the past month. She wasn't stupid. She knew why they had flocked to her: these friends she suddenly found herself having. They were interested in the Joker, not _her_. But she couldn't really complain about it. She had been trying to get as many appointments with him as she could. God knows why but she felt something- some urge- to be with him. He was like a magnet. She knew she shouldn't but she really liked him, as unprofessional as it was. She felt like... he was her one REAL friend. Then she squealed excitedly. It was ten a.m. on the dot. Excusing herself she checked the mirror for a moment, smoothing out her pigtail hair cut before moving towards Jokers cell.

* * *

Five men stood outside Arkham, all donned with full suits and ties. They were clutching a figure of a girl, a red bag over her head, as they approached the doors. A guard observed them with interest as they made their ways forward, towards him.

"Inmate?" the guard questioned. "You got ID?"

"Which one would you like an answer to?" a voice asked.

The voice was from the bag. It was the girl speaking from beneath the red hood.

"We are here," one of the men said, "on the orders of Bane and Miss Dent."

The guard snorted. "And who the heck are either of those?" he questioned.

Suddenly the girl under the bag jumped up and held a blade to the guards throat, ripping off the hood to reveal her face: the face of a girl, about nineteen, with a long scar running down from her hair line to her chin, narrowly avoiding her eye.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Delula Dent spat before slicing the mans throat.

* * *

Harleen stepped into Jokers cell and sat down. Joker himself was in the corner, head in arms. Harleen knew his struggles, his desperation to make the world laugh. He was lost and she watched in sorrow as he appeared to be sobbing in front of him.

"Is my favourite patient okay?" she enquired, pity ringing through the tone.

Slowly he lifted his head from the shadows of his arms. Harleen expected to see tears stain his makeup. But there were none. He wasn't crying. He was laughing.

"What's happened?" she asked, a smile on her own lips as she saw he was perfectly fine (or at lkeast she sawe him as perfectly fine).

"It's not what's happened Harley," he said. "No no no, it's what's _HAPPENING_."

Harleen raised an eyebrow. "Why, what's happening?"

"Harleen, this past month you have been my special little monster," Joker sighed, rising to his feet. "You've been the only person I have had any fun talking to since I've been here. Except for that other therapist who had a breakdown. He really did crack me up!"

Harleen wasn't sure exactly why but she was still smiling.

"But I am afraid that this is where I must leave you," Joker continued. "Sorry Harley, but I gotta go."

Harleen frowned and was about to say something when she heard gun fire outside. She turned her head for a second before she noticed, from the corner of her eye, Joker lunge forwards. She opened her mouth but didn't get to speak. CRACK! He swiped her across the face and she fell to the floor.

* * *

The cell door opened slowly as Delula Dent stepped around the dead bodies at her feet. She watched as Joker stepped forwards, out from his cell.

"You guys took your time," he said.

"Gotham has been on red alert since Harvey Dent day," Delula protested. "You expect us to try busting you out when the guard power is triple what it should have been? It was you who suggested we blow half a building last month!"

Joker frowned at her before approaching and putting his face against hers. "And it was very funny," he spat. "Either way," he continued, stepping away, "we better get more of the crazy stuff in this month since you little bitches did literally nothing last month."

"What do you suggest?" Delula asked, the other men now stepping in with three Arkham employees against the barrels of their guns.

"Well firstly," Joker said, "you can shoot those three hostages they've got there. We don't need them." Joker turned to the unconscious figure of Harleen Quinzel. "I took care of the hostage taking strategy."

Delula nodded over to her men who didn't waste a second in disposing of the hostages. "Now what?" Delula quizzed.

A wide grin appeared on Jokers face. "I believe that a certain man will be attending a certain live television," Joker said. "Let's do a bit of self promotion."


	7. Chapter 7

**_I haven't updated this in ages. Please read, review and follow. Thank you._ **

7

Gordon shook his head. There would be a damn lot of families who would never see their loved ones again after that night. He stared at the chaos around him. The Joker was out of Arkham. He was gone. The GCPD had arrived at Arkham Asylum after a call from a man calling himself Jack Napier. There was no such man in Arkham, staff or otherwise. But either way they were there now in the corridors of Arkham now lined with body after body. And worse, the Joker had escaped.

"Jim!" Gordon heard a voice call.

He turned away from the sights to Harvey Bullock.

"You might want to see this," Harvey said.

* * *

"The therapist the Joker had been seeing- Dr Harleen Quinzell- recorded several sessions on camera on the say so of one of her bosses," Harvey explained. "That's what the record says any way."

"And you have them I assume?" Gordon asked.

Bullock jerked his head over to a computer monitor which appeared to have a video waiting to be played for Gordons benefit. With a nod Gordon strode over and the play button was pressed.

"This is the voice of Doctor Harleen Quinzell in a recorded session with her patient, please sit down," a voice in the back ground spoke. The voice of Quinzell. Then: "Stop touching me, please sit down on the other side of the table."

That was the moment the Joker came into view of the camera, sitting reluctantly at the table.

"Please state your name to the camera," Quinzell spoke.

Joker raised an eyebrow, not at the camera but over it, at Quinzell. "You know what you call me usually Harley," he said.

"You will call me Dr Quinzell," Harleen said. "Now please state your name."

"Well you usually call me Mr. J. but if you want formalities," he said before staring into the camera lens with grim satisfaction, "Joker!"

"Real name please."

"Full name you mean? The Joker then."

An audible sigh could be heard escaping from Quinzell before Joker narrowed his eyes, once again conducting his gaze just above the camera.

"What's wrong Harley? You usually enjoy our fun and games."

That was all Gordon witnessed of the session as the footage cut to a sudden pause. Gordon narrowed his brow.

"Why did you pause it?" he questioned.

"I didn't," the officer responded. "That's the end of the video. The rest of the session is missing- or she turned the camera off."

"Why would she do that?" Gordon questioned, his eyes questioning. "Could we contact Dr Quinzell at her home address?"

The officer nodded. "Right on to it sir," he responded.

* * *

Harleen's eyes flickered open. For a moment her surroundings seemed too odd for her to comprehend. Then, gradually, she came to terms with the reality. Her wrists were tied behind her back, to a chair, hardly any blood getting to her hands as a result. She was in a ware house. There was nothing she could feel now other than fear. Deep deep fear. Every move she made was painful, twisting her neck feeling as if she were trying to tear her own head from her body. Then the door opened and two men stepped in. One she didn't know: a tall, slim man with a green jacket. But she knew the other. Mr J! She didn't understand herself why she felt a strange warmth at the moment she saw the Joker. But she was dissatisfied when it was the other man who approached her.

"I would like to see if your knock on the head has affected your line of thinking Doctor Quinzell," the man explained. "My name is Edward Nygma. I will ask you a simple question. Should you get the correct answer you are useful to us. If you don't then it seems cruel to keep you alive."

It didn't quite process with Harleen the significance of this statement. Then, after a brief pause for thought, she did. Looking up in horror she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Please, no!" she begged.

"The question will be one of my own choosing," Nygma stated.

"Mr J!" Harleen pleaded to an unflinching "Mr J".

"A man worked at a high security institution. The man tried to log into his computer and the computer denied the password. He then remembered that the passwords to the computers were reset every month for security reasons. He called his boss for his new password," Nygma spoke clearly.

"Please… I…"

"The man said, "Boss, my old password is out of date." The boss said, "Yes, it is. The new password is different, but if you listen closely you will be able to figure out the new one. Your new password has the same amount of letters as the old one, and four of the letters are the same." Keeping up?"

"I don't…"

"The man then logged into his computer with no trouble. So my question to you Miss Quinzell is this… What was the new password? What was his old?"

"I don't…"

"You don't know? Well that's a pity… for you," Nygma sighed, ecstatic. "I will pull the trigger then!"

"No," Harleen said.

"Three."

"Don't!"

"Two…"

"Out of date and different!"

"One…" Nygma said, squeezing the trigger slightly before realizing what she'd just said. "What?" he questioned.

"The man's old password was "out of date". His new password was "different"," Harleen said desperately.

Nygma stared, apparently horrified, at Quinzell. Gradually a laughter began to rise in the background: the Joker.

"Looks like you've been outsmarted Nygma," he laughed. "Harley is slightly above kids puzzle games."

Harleen felt an unconscious smile spring to her face and she couldn't get rid of it.

"Nygma, the names not subtle," Hareleen heard herself say. "Call yourself Riddler why don't you?"

Nygma glared back at her, a murderous look in his eyes, before striding out. With a quick wink at Harleen Joker followed. The door clanked shut. But she didn't feel the same desperation now. It was almost kinda… funny.


	8. Chapter 8

The night was cold, frost covering the streets of Gotham, a chill descending over the streets. A single truck drove its path through the frost ridden roads before skidding to a halt. they had not been driving particularly quickly but the breaks still chose to creak as they skidded across the icy surface. the door of the truck opened and a pair of boots trod upon the road. Looking about him he wondered to the back of the truck and observed the view from there. Dawn was coming. But it was a very different dawn that he saw. Holding a cigarette to his lips he took a deep inhale before blowing the fumes through his nose. A cascade of smoke. Grey, solid smoke. Then he began to make his way to the apartment block opposite him. the stairs were wet with melted snow, slush seeming to have found its way onto the stair case some way or another. He paid no heed to it. The ground was below his feet. He had no need of it other than to trample upon its face. finally he found the room he had been looking for and, crouching, heard the sounds he had expected through the key hole. The whimpering of a woman. As he stood up the man found himself smiling slightly. He might let a dead man enjoy his last moments, but that would be of no gain to him. This apartment block was falling apart at the seams. It would only take a slight shove to destroy a lock like the one he expected would be on this door. he found his expectations to be correct. As he walked into the room he nodded to the mayor who was staring at him with the eyes of a rabbit who had just noticed a fox. The girl who lay beneath him wasn't looking all too happy to see a second man in the room at that point either.  
"I suggest you leave us men to talk," the man told the girl, his gloved hand running over his bald head. "Get some clothes on if you really must. Although I doubt you wear them much if you're warming the mayors bed."  
The naked woman seemed to give a pleading look at the mayor but he wasn't looking at her. He was focusing on the bald man whom stood before him in a jacket. Slowly she slid out of the bed and, grabbing a dressing gown, left the room. As the door shut the bald man looked down on the Mayor before smiling slightly.  
"I come across men like you a lot," he told the Mayor. "Middle aged men who can't resist the closest girl to them."  
The Mayor stared at the bald man, gulping. "What do you want?" he demanded.  
"No need to be rude," the bald man sighed. "I am only here for a certain document." then leaning forward, his face moulding itself into one of spite and disgust in an instant. "Where is it?" he spat at the fearful man. "Where is my prize?"  
"I..." the mayor said, staring at the towering man.  
"You know, I hate being failed," the bald man sighed. "I've skinned people for less."  
"You will have it," the naked Mayor told him from his place wrapped up on the bed.  
"I do hope so," the man said. "I really do. Or else my company might find some way to get you out of the way. And we wouldn't want that for you would we?" There was glee in his sadistic grin as the Mayor shook his head. He had already promised to have James Gordon fired to this man and had soon found that one promise was not nearly enough for Lex Luthor. "Anyway," Lex grinned at the Mayor, "I have something else I would like to speak about too..."

* * *

The girl the Mayor had been entertaining, or, in her view, was entertaining the Mayor, looked about her. Her dressing gown flapped in the cold and she reached into the pocket and pulled out what she had been looking for. And she knew the Mayor was no Angel. It hadn't taken him long to agree to bed her. Approximately thirty to forty five minutes if she recalled correctly. She removed her hand from the pocket and brought out the dangling golden chain, a heart hanging at the end. Opening up the heart she grinned. good, she thought.


End file.
